


Bared

by mAd_parnes



Series: Go for Broke [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Blood, Episode: s06e05 Live Free or Twihard, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Soulless!Sam, vampire!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2021547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mAd_parnes/pseuds/mAd_parnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hello Ther<br/>Posting an old thing I wrote two?...<br/>...yes my domestic poet/calendar savant says it was two years ago, but I think it fits the current feels of the fandom.<br/>Needs no summery just look at the tags. Warnings? Yeah, it's unbetaed. Mostly I post this to feed your plotbunnies some blood, as you wonderful people frequently do to mine<br/>So here it is</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bared

**Bared**

 

by Joseph Stoker & Francis Rice

 

 

 

„Do it.“

 

Sam watches him, steady heartbeat more distressing than the fucking bright lights.

Dean shoves him against the Wall. Hard, bones are creaking under the force and Sam smiles at him.

 

„Just do it.“

 

They both know what Dean 's asking. A quick end, before he loses it, attacks, the one thing he always protected no matter what. Before he bites down and speeds up that stupid steady heartbeat, or before worse, he leaves, does the first thing that came to his already stricken mind. Saying goodbye to Lisa and Ben. Yeah sure, he could see that going down. By the time he would arrive, his hunger would have consumed him. Exactly what Ben needs, to see Dean feeding on his mother, before he comes after him too.

He still holds Sam against the wall, who is too pliant, too relaxed. Dean 's the perfect opposite, keeping as much distance between them as possible, at the same time unable to let go.

Sam's hands go to Deans hips, just touching his sides. Then he brings him closer.

 

“Fuck Sam, what the hell”

 

The words grind out between his teeth.

Sam answers him by a subtle movement. Head tilt up to the side, neck bared, dark eyes an observant gleam from under lowered eyelashes.

If there ever has been a perfect come hither look to a vampire this was it.

 

The same second Sam makes that move, Dean releases him. Burned.

 

And maybe he really burnt himself on Sam, who blinks, a stir like ash flakes from hellfire.

Sam hasn't let go.

He leans forward, all his warmth and smell and lazy pumping blood comes within Deans reach. He knows his eyes are comically wide, he knows he shouldn't be afraid, he 's the damn monster here, but Sam just leans in.

 

Moist breath a shiver tasting Deans ear and he speaks, Dean can hardly hear the words for Sam's loud tact of contracting heart muscles, an oh so steady bang against that delicate ribs.

 

“I know what it's like, Dean.”

 

He could break those ribs with ease, stop the heart with his hand. Make it do something else than beating steady, not giving away anything. No feeling for his dying brother.

Already dead man walking. No heartbeat answering that uncaring one.

 

“...you hear me, Dean?”

 

A lick, just below his ear. Dean shudders so hard, he nearly shakes off Sam's hands.

 

“Been there, done that. I know what it feels like to want the blood so much you already taste it thick on your tongue.”

 

The only thing he can taste is Sam's saliva, on his skin, in the air he breaths, so strong he wants to smack his lips, as if the taste were there.

He doesn't get what Sam wants to tell him, to stay strong? That he 's able to fight it?

Who is he kidding? Doesn't he see, that Dean is seconds away from tearing Sam's throat out?

All that soft skin and good and solid flesh.

 

“...just a moment, when you came back from the dead, Dean, from hell, I wished you were a demon.”

 

That sobers Dean up pretty fast. For the first time since he lost his ability to speak, when was that?a minute ago, or an hour, he looks straight into his brothers eyes.

He doesn't have to ask, What?

 

“Your blood would have been so much better than Ruby's.”

 

That even gives him back his forgotten tongue.

“You're kidding.”

 

Sam lets himself fall back against the wall, a youthful movement, with a snort, not quite a giggle, some retort long lost in their shared teenage years.

And, for the first time since Sam came back to him, Dean can see the broken thing that returned, without the facade of professionalism.

Cruel and playful, fishing for something Dean has no idea what.

His stomach is a knot, he comes closer on pure lifelong instinct of making better, kissing away Sam's pain.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

Sam hugs his arms around Dean's waist. Despite the innocent gesture, he looks old, his strained expression tells the _Everything_ before it passes his lips.

 

“...it doesn't hurt.” Sam ends his vague explanation. Dean has to move his hands, fingertips ghosting over Sam, mapping out where his brother begins, makes sure, he's not too close. Would Sam's muscles hold any force, they would be pressed together. But Deans all pressure, force and impotent power. Sam is calm, cold anger.

 

„Nothing ever hurts.“ Sam spits out like an accusation.

 

“It should. You don't come back from hell without pain. It's wrong. It should be there, I feel it, like a missing tooth; I should ache for all the absence of feeling I have, but then I don't.

I don't feel a fucking thing.”

 

Dean tastes salt. Sam brings his face to Dean's cheek and rubs it in the wetness there. He is so close, Dean can tell the darker scent of the jugulars blood, more drained than the sweet red under Sam's carotid; he can feel the vibration they're giving off over the air.

 

His little brother presses his skin against Dean's lips.

 

“Make it hurt, Dean.”

 

At last all that devastation Dean felt got swamped by anger. How could Sam, how could he ask this?!

He brings his fist up from the side, gets Sam on chin. His teeth click painfully loud in Dean's ears. Sam follows with an attack of his own, inhumanly fast, keeping up with Deans new pace.

They fight, he lands a lot more blows than Sam, but still, this not what little brother wanted, not the hurt that could speed up his heartbeat to anything close of anxiety.

The smell of Sam's blood is everywhere and all Dean knows anymore. His own body feels so tight, as if his tendons want to tear him apart. The longer they clash against each other the more eager he got. Not just for blood, for all he could take from Sam, his sweat, his flesh, his bones, his screams, his dying heartbeat, that tiny gasp he makes whenever his jerking off rhythm changes from good-feel to close-coming.

 

Sam sweeps his feet away from under him. He doesn't fall, he crashes, Sam was taking the firm ground so fast, Dean doesn't notice he 's dragging Sam with him.

He struggles to get away from under Sam, to late. Sam has his wrists pinned down, riding him like he is some fucking mechanic bull, holding him down with his stupid advantage of weight.

Dean doesn't want it to stop, ever.

He never felt like that for Sammy.

But he does now. He wants to spread Sam and fuck into him till he 's crying, till his heartbeat stutters and his body shakes; down below him, naked, vulnerable, human, for his to feast on.

But that wouldn't be Sam;

Sam: Sometimes pliant, but never giving an inch, often sweet, never in taste.

 

He stills under Sam, little brother not missing a sec, to roll his hips against Dean. Sam's blood is a drying smear on Deans skin and Dean loses it.

He puts his supernatural strength to use and breaks Sam's hold, flips them, pressing Sam into the ground for good measure, just to feel the air flushing out of Sam's lungs into his face.

 

He kisses Sam, their jeans-covered groins an angry rub on each other, till Sam get's that the fighting stopped.

 

So much blood, from Sam's nose, his busted lips, on his tongue... Dean sucks on it, draws more blood from the wounded flesh. Sam's body is wrecked with moans, which do not make it out of his occupied mouth.

 

One hand a tight grip in Sammy's hair, his other busy getting under his shirt. In one laggard motion he claws up all that perfect skin there, lavishes blood to lush air.

 

His teeth are out only halfway, his need to kiss as essential as his thirst for blood.

 

Doesn't bite, doesn't break skin. Sam growls in frustration.

Dean comes, while he 's kissing down Sam's throat, not yet a climax, just him jizzing his pants like a teen, while he ruts against his little brother, the pushy, impatient bitch; even in this moment, like everything Dean ever was couldn't crash and burn fast enough.

 

Dean comes up again, for a kiss against Sammy's temple, steadying himself.

While the rest of it rushes away with Sam's heartbeat, a beautiful erratic rhythm.

 

He can feel Sam's kitten-licks to his neck, right before his little brother bites down hard, through blood vessels.

Death drains from Dean into him, silencing that rhythm forever.

 

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> My muse means to remember we listened to Prince, specifically When Doves Cry, while we thought that one up; but I wouldn't trust her, her memory is------------  
> OW!!  
> I must stop writing about her while she lounges on the armrest of my chair. It's life-threatening...Great now she plays with the staple remover, I better pick up the original topic:
> 
> I need a beta reader. Desperately.  
> As may some have noticed, or not? English is not my first language and sure there was a time where I learned all that jazz in school, but I'm old, not as old as my first proofreader, but his English is...it laacks in aaspects oof proofaanity he would saay...  
> Wow, now she threatenes to tell him I wrote that, I must have really pissed her off insulting her memory...but given, that muses by some description only consist of memory, where was I? Ah yes, beta readers.  
> I beg you people out there who have skills, please take mercy on a humble porn writer, whose second proof reader's english...  
> is good enough to tell me you capitalize English,(don't fear for me, she didn't hit me this time) but still, we would like to have a native speaker's opinion. On this fic and on our currant?current project, which is a bit more extensive.  
> If you are a beta reader or know a beta reader, or have compromising photos on a beta-reader...Contact us over the Comments.  
> My muse checks these and will handle the re-write all on her own. To try to communicate to me is useless, I have the attention span of an ant, would she not sit with me and stare me down, I would have already lost track and found myself coffee, a book or done some origami from the tinfoil of the chocolate easter bunny who passed away so young...see lost track again.  
> Please future beta reader of ours, contact her, her name is Bee and she is a really nice one, as long as you don't grope her knee, tip her nose or insult her memory. If you approach her in the Comments she will somehow get in contact with you, no idea how she does that, she is even worse with taht Internets than me and I am-  
> I am told to shut up and write something we can sell.  
> xxx Jo


End file.
